Odes are typically written in celebration of something. While there exists a formal structure to an ode (that being the Greek Ode), and while I'll inevitably write one, it's somewhat daunting. So, instead, let us celebrate the impossible denizens that exist without the cycle of life and death; thòse̛ ̧str̸ąn̴ge ͜an͘d͟ ̷queer be͏ing̀s̴ ̴tha̧t come f͟r͞om ͝the ̴e̴m͞p͜ty, fr̸̢͞om ̧t̢̕h̨e͢ ̕͏v̛͏̶oi̶͡d̡,̢ ̴̡͘f̸͢rom̷̡̛ ̴́t̶͞h̡a̧͞t̸̢ ̵̀͘g̴̨̛re̸̶a̡̢d̴ ͘d̴̨́a̴̕͡r̷̡̛k҉ ̵beý̶o̕n͢d̡͜,́͞ ̶̢͠w̨͞ho̴̸ ̵w͘a̶t̛ch͘͜ ̨us̷, u̵͞͏n̸̨͢͝͞k̨͝n͏̕͠͏͢ǫ͢͝͠w̸̷̡͘i̵̶͠ņgl̡̡͜͝͝y̢͞,̢̨̛̀͘ ͘͜͏w̵̨͝i̶̢t̷̛͟͞h̵̡͘̕ ͜͠t͠͏h̷͢͠eir͏͢ ̷͏̕͘t̀hoù͝͡͝sand̸̢̀͘͝ ̧̀e̷̴͜͜ye͘s


An Ode to Madness
The sky's a somber, screaming scourge—
Drowned sailors sound their dying dirge—
The surging swell spills forth and fills
My maddened mind! My soul it chills!

Down from the deep, I hear the hail—
That woeful, wasting, wistful wail—
That clarion! That calming call!
Atop the cliff, I fear no fall!

One single step to meet the murk—
And what weird thing below does lurk—
Which brought about this cursed craze!
Whose visage set my mind ablaze!

That dreadful drop drags on and on,
Until the dreary dawn of dawn,
When sunlight through my window creeps—
Still—something in my slumber sleeps!


I'm quite sorry about that; I seem to have suffered a fainting spell of some sort, during which I had one of the most vivid dreams—if not the most striking—in my life. In any case, here are three tankas to sate your thirst for filth.


Leather
Darkened leather chaps /
Harnessing innate appeal /
Firmly fitted straps /
My exposure pleases you /
While you remain in control.

Show
The crowd cheers you on /
I'm a plaything to be used /
For their enjoyment /
They roar, electric, tense /
Intoxicated by us.

High
Together we ride /
Running like watercolours /
Melding with each thrust /
Without you, I'm blank canvas /
But with you, we're living art.

-Charles Michael Averin